


Always a Kun, Never a Chan

by ptw30



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, KiKuro - Freeform, KiKuro Month 2016, M/M, Mutual Pining, actor!kise, teacher!kuroko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptw30/pseuds/ptw30
Summary: Kuroko and Kise have known each other for more than a decade, and Kise has tried to keep his high school obsession under wraps - or his equivalent of it. But there's one thing that has bugged him all these years - why he is "Kise-kun"? Not Kise-chan or Ryouta-chan. And this year, as he turns a quarter-century old, he's determined to find out why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I wrote this a year ago I think for KiKuro Month, but I didn't get it edited in time. So I was going to post this for Kise's birthday, but I forgot about it. And I then I found it on my hard drive. Hope you enjoy the fluffity fluff fluff!
> 
> EDIT: I've been informed that Kuroko wouldn't call Kise "chan" in this scene, as per RL situations/customs. I do research before writing a story, but sometimes, it just doesn't pan out correctly. Sorry for anyone whom this may have offended.

“So I hear it’s someone’s birthday next week,” the morning show host cooed as she put a hand on Ryouta’s arm. “Tell us your plans.”

Ryouta smiled, excited and overzealous from the studio couch. “Oh, nothing big. A few friends over. Cake and gifts. Maybe this year, I’ll finally get a pony!”

That was, of course, a lie. As one of Tokyo’s hottest actors, heart-throb Kise Ryouta threw himself _the_ party of the year, every year, with none of his closest friends. He invited his agent and fellow actors, a few singers, a dancer here and there, and maybe radio personalities, if they were famous enough. His apartment would be packed with themed rooms and great accessories, and no one left before three the next morning. 

But Daiki always had the late-night shift and refused to answer the calls by Ryouta’s neighbors. Taiga, too, happened to always have station rotation on Ryouta’s birthday. Shintarou texted “go die,” though Kazunari generally followed it up with a birthday greeting and an apology, as Shintarou was in his last year of medical school and couldn’t afford a night off from studying. Likewise, Seijuro was in America, learning about his company’s newest division, while Atsushi muttered that “Muro-chin” needed him for something or other. 

Ryouta knew he was getting the brush off— _him,_ the most successful out of all of them! (Okay, that really wasn’t fair because Daiki did save a bunch of kids last week on that bridge, and Taiga saved hundreds of people every year, and Seijuro was head of one of the most powerful companies in the world, not to mention Shintarou was a doctor after all, but still!)

Tetsuya was perhaps the most successful of their friends as a kindergarten teacher who taught the young leader of tomorrow, and that hurt Ryouta the hardest. Because Tetsuya was free, every year, and he couldn’t even be bothered to return Ryouta’s wall of texts on his birthday.

Ryouta knew it was stupid, some middle school crush that bloomed into a raging high school obsession thanks to hormones and that adorable blush Tetsuya wore when Ryouta teased him. But he’d thrown himself at Tetsuya over and over again to no avail. Even in the first few weeks of their freshmen year, he went to see Tetsuya and offered him a place on Kaijo’s bench (Kasamatsu would have relented eventually), but Tetsuya brushed him off. He tolerated Ryouta’s smothering hugs, asked to be released when they went on too long—though Ryouta could hold onto Kurokocchi forever—and even sent Kasamatsu stern looks when he wanted to be freed. 

Ryouta came to realize, depressingly late, that Tetsuya would never return his affections, and Ryouta tried his best now not to overwhelm Tetsuya. He treated him like any other friend—and instead of writing a new text every five seconds, he simply snapped shut his phone and lost himself in the chaos that was his party. 

But it wasn’t fun. It never was. It was a publicity stunt his manager decided to throw when he turned twenty, and it perpetuated year after year. He didn’t even handle the invitations anymore, and Ryouta sometimes envied Tetsuya. The Phantom Sixth Man of the Generation of Miracles maintained his weak presence, even after all these years, and Ryouta wished sometimes he had one as well. Even entrenched in the gaiety and madness that was his birthday celebration, he sometimes wished for a low-key job, like an airline pilot or even a flight attendant. Perhaps then Kurokocchi would see him, would want to be with him on his birthday. Or at the very least answer a text from Ryouta on the day he turned twenty-five. 

But whatever. What was Ryouta thinking? That his quarter-century birthday would be any different from all the others? Even after all these years, Kurokocchi never glanced his way—or at the very least, in the very same way he looked at Daiki or Taiga. Why would he ever look at Ryouta like Ryouta looked at him?

Ryouta eventually excused himself from the ring of models who had flocked to be his dancing partners and retreated to a quiet corner to check his phone again. Ugh, he was so pathetic. He doubted Tetsuya was checking his phone, waiting for a barrage of texts asking where he was. 

“Kise-kun, happy birthday,” a soft but resounding voice sliced through Ryouta’s thoughts, and Ryouta did not, at all, let out a girly shriek. 

Once he managed to calm his breathing, he gazed down to see a shorter man dressed in a loose fitting T-shirt, jeans, and just-so tasseled hair, as if Ryouta had styled it himself. Overwhelmed and overjoyed, Ryouta forgot himself, throwing his arms around his only friend—and secret crush—with a wailing, “Kurokocchi! You came!”

“Of course, Kise-kun,” Tetsuya muttered into his chest. “It’s your birthday.”

“But you never come!”

“I come every year. You just never see me.”

Ryouta jerked away, clutching Tetsuya’s shoulders as if burnt. “Whaaat? Kurokocchi, how can you say such evil things? I would notice you immediately!”

“My weak presence is easily overlooked.” Tetsuya smiled, and Ryouta thought it was a little sad, perhaps even a little wistful. “And usually Kise-kun has other thoughts on his mind.”

He motioned toward the models who had just let him out of his grasp less than five minutes ago, and his face burned with a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and arousal. 

“Well, uhhh…that was just because Kurokocchi wasn’t here to distract me!”

“Did I sufficiently distract you today?” 

Was Tetsuya… _teasing_ him? Oh, the things that did to Ryouta’s heart, and now he scrutinized Tetsuya’s unusual attire and styled hair. Was he _trying_ to get noticed? 

Ryouta pouted. He feared to hope. “Anyway, you should have told me you were coming.”

“Why?” Tetsuya said in all honesty, glancing up with those innocent if hurt eyes. “Kise-kun doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday with his friends.”

Ryouta blinked, taken back by the hurtful bluntness of Tetsuya’s statement. Was that what Daiki and Seijuro and Taiga and all the others thought? Was that what Tetsuya thought?

Ryouta’s face darkened with a bitter scowl. “If you believe that, then why’d you come?”

Glancing away, Tetsuya seemed embarrassed, the wrapped box in his hand shaking a little as he struggled to find the words, “Today is special. It’s Kise-kun’s silver birthday, so I thought – I hoped he might not mind seeing me. Am I wrong? If so, I will leave.”

He seemed to already be turning toward the exit hallway, and Ryouta thought his heart would leap from his chest to follow. Instead, his grabby hands reached out to snatch Tetsuya’s elbow and spin him about. 

“No!” He checked himself for the second time in however many moments. “Please. Stay, Kurokocchi. Um…I mean, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Kurokocchi’s smile was precious, reminding Ryouta of their middle school days and what first drew him to the sixth man. “It would be my honor, Kise-kun.”

Three beers later, Ryouta laughed hysterically in the corner, though Tetsuya seemed only slightly buzzed. “And then—then! You remember Aominecchi’s face, right? Amiright? I thought he was going to kill Kagamicchi!”

Tetsuya’s eyes appeared lofty, dreamy in a sense, lost in the throes of memories. “It was one of the very few times I remember Momoi-san not being able to rein in Aomine-kun.”

“Oh, she tried, but didn’t you eventually manage it?”

Tetsuya hummed thoughtfully before taking another sip of his beer. “He and Kagami-kun clutched their sides for days.”

Ryouta sobered instantly. “You’ve never done that to me.”

“Kise-kun had Kasamatsu-san to kick him in line.”

“Hm. I bet my agent would love to hire him now.”

“Do you ever…regret it, Kise-kun?” Tetsuya asked in that quiet voice that never judged but just wondered. “Do you wish you hadn’t gone into modeling and acting?”

“Sometimes,” Ryouta admitted with a somber sigh. “Then maybe I could see more Kurokocchi!”

“You could see more of us, Kise-kun,” Tetsuya rebuffed. “You shouldn’t make us compete for your attention.”

“And what do you suggest? I have a small gathering at the Firemen’s Hall behind Kagamicchi’s station?”

“It doesn’t have to be, but it’s an idea. And you could invite some of these people, Kise-kun. Your real friends, not the ones your agent tells you to invite.”

Ryouta threw back another swig of his beer. “And Kagamicchi will grill us some cheeseburgers before Aominecchi brings out the basketball, and we’ll have a pick-up three-on-three game.”

There was that devious little smile Ryouta loved so much. “I’ll even play on your team, Kise-kun, since it’s your birthday.”

“Why do you call me ‘Kise-kun’? We’ve been friends for more than a decade, Kurokocchi! You should call me Ryouta. Or at least Ryouta-chan!”

Tetsuya took a measured sip of his beer, though he seemed to be weighing Ryouta’s words with trembling eyes. When he finally swallowed, he glanced away, his cheeks enflamed. “Kise-kun shouldn’t tease me.”

“Huh? That’s not a tease, Kurokocchi! What? Would you like me to call you ‘Tetsuyacchi?’” 

Ryouta almost cut off his own balls right then and there at the adorable pout upon Tetsuya’s face. “Kise-kun will always be Kise-kun. He will not be anything else.” 

“Tetsuyacchi, what do you mean?” That simple word seemed to send a sensual shiver up Tetsuya’s spine. Ryouta lowered his voice until it was rugged and alluring, drawing Tetsuya’s bright and glistening eyes. “Who do you want me to be?”

At some moment, he’d leaned forward, his face inches from Tetsuya’s, and when Tetsuya turned back to him, Ryouta drowned in that breathtaking blue color of Tetsuya’s eyes and the intoxicating scent of barley and vanilla. He wanted to close his eyes and take what he’d been desiring for more than ten years, but this close, Tetsuya looked so vulnerable, so frightened, Ryouta didn’t dare. 

Instead, he pulled away and plopped down by his side of the table to take another swig of his beer. Ugh, it tasted like piss now, but he gulped it down, hoping to drink his disappointment away. Another year, another hopeless cause. 

“Why do you do that, Kise-kun?” Tetsuya asked, so fragile and wondering that Ryouta choked on his beer. 

“Wha- _huh_!” Smooth, Ryouta. Real smooth. 

When Tetsuya glanced up, he wore a look of absolute devastation. “I get why you flirted with me in high school, but why now?”

Ryouta clutched his beer so tightly, his knuckles turned white. “All this time, you knew?” _About my crush on you? About my absolute obsession of you? And you did nothing but tolerate it?_ Ryouta wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse about the whole situation. 

Tetsuya nodded with a sad resignation. “It was so kind of you, Kise-kun. No one else ever looked twice my way, and yet you always made me feel I mattered. I—I cherished it, really. I cherished you, Kise-kun, because most people never bother to see me, let alone tease me. And you did. But we’re both adults now. Why do you still do it? I never thought of you as cruel, Kise-kun.”

“Me, Cruel?” What was Ryouta missing here? “Tetsuyacchi, you knew of my feelings all this time, and you did nothing! You’re the cruel one!”

“Feelings?” Tetsuya met Ryouta’s incensed gaze with a confused expression. “What feelings, Kise-kun? Weren’t you—weren’t you just being kind to me?”

Perhaps it was the three beers or maybe it was the twelve years of unresolved sexual tension, but Ryouta exploded at that instant. “I love you, Tetsuyacchi! I’ve loved you seen middle school! How could you not have known? I practically smothered you every time we met. I asked you to come to the same high school as me! I brought you milkshakes and ice cream bars. I practically came to see every one of your basketball games in college, and all you did all that time was push me away! Or had Kagamicchi or Aominecchi chase me away.”

“Because I thought—I thought there could be no way you felt that way, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“How could you think that?”

“I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Kise-kun, and – and I thought perhaps you would – or even feel obligated in some way to reciprocate if you knew about my feelings for you.”

They stared at each other, dumbfounded and shocked, tears shimmering in both of their eyes. Ryouta let out a breathless, giddy laughter, as if he couldn’t believe the sheer absurdity of this whole situation. All this time, Tetsuyacchi loved him? But how he could ever think so differently when Ryouta kept his heart on his sleeve? How could he ever question Ryouta’s less than pure affections?

“There you are!” Agent swept into the conversation like a raging tornado and tugged Ryouta to his feet. “The gracious host can’t be sitting alone in the corner of the room. Mix. Mingle. Dance with some hot chicks for TMZ to post tomorrow.”

“Agent-san, please excuse me, but I’m with someone right now.” He motioned toward Tetsuya, who mimicked the look of a deer in headlights perfectly. Agent-san blinked, cocked his head to the side, and eventually shook his head. 

“Nah. He’s cute but not masculine enough to show off as your boyfriend for the yaoi-lovers. Better play it straight this time.”

“Agent-san, stop!” Ryouta barked, wiggling out of Agent’s grasp to shout. “This is my birthday. This is my party, and Tetsuyacchi and I were in the middle of something here!” Like his teenage dream. 

Agent-san blinked and motioned toward the now empty table. “Are you sure? I’m still not positive you weren’t being haunted by the Ghost of Birthdays Past.”

He glanced left and then right, frantically searching for any glimpse of blue hair, but Tetsuya wouldn’t be found if he wanted be. Hell, even if he wanted to be, sometimes he just _couldn’t_ be. 

“Forget about him!” Agent cheered and slapped Ryouta on the shoulder twice. “Let’s find a sexy lover for Heartthrob Kise Ryouta!”

A sudden queasiness swirled in the pit of Ryouta’s stomach. No wonder Tetsuya had felt so self-conscious about his place in Ryouta’s life—hell, no wonder all his friends avoided him on his birthday. They felt like they had to compete with the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous for his attention when they still remembered him with pimples and flabby muscles. They were his true friends, not the bunch of strangers he’d gathered for his birthday, and they should be here at his party. Tetsuya should be here, not these losers. 

The music abruptly stopped when he grabbed the DJ’s microphone and ordered, “Everyone out! Party’s over!”

“Ryouta! Baby! What are you doing?” Agent screamed as he broke through the groaning mass, but Ryouta just snarled at him. “Everyone. Now!”

The DJ, the caters, the waiters—they all left their stuff while a gaggle of models whined and started toward the exit. Within five minutes, Ryouta was left alone in the chaos that was his apartment. 

Sighing, Ryouta retreated to the table in the corner he’d shared with Tetsuya, where the hopes and dreams of his middle school and high school selves were realized. But then they were dashed in the moment it took for his agent to intervene. Who else had intervened to tell Tetsuya how worthless and ill-suited for Ryouta he was? Who had placed these doubts in his head? Had Ryouta himself fed them?

Did Tetsuyacchi really come every year to his birthday and Ryouta just not notice him? Ryouta almost wished he’d let the bartender stay. He could use another drink right now. 

Ryouta glanced to where Tetsuya had sat, cocking his head to the side as he saw the present Tetsuyacchi left him. His curiosity got the better of him, and he tore open the wrapping to see the gift—a My Little Pony doll. 

*^*^*

Tetsuya glanced at his phone for what seemed like the fortieth time that day. He might not have responded to the barrage of messages Ryouta usually assaulted his phone with, but he couldn’t deny the unconscious smile that found his face every time he read a new tidbit or a needless thought or just a kind greeting from Ryouta. 

But today, nothing. Not even a “Good morning, Kurokocchi!” which was customary for Ryouta to send at all hours of the day, even when he was filming in Europe or America and the timing was not conducive to Tetsuya’s schedule. 

Tetsuya sighed and slipped his cell phone into his pocket as the students returned from recess. He put on his kind smile and tried to forget that perhaps he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, confessing to one of his best friends, but Ryouta had seemed to be surprised, too, by his feelings. And even—to Tetsuya’s surprised delight—reciprocate. 

But maybe Ryouta listened to his agent, who reminded him how Tetsuya wouldn’t photograph well or wouldn’t further his career. So the smart thing to do would be to forget Tetsuya all together and—

His phone dinged. Tetsuya struggled not to look at it immediately and instead focused on the task at hand, getting out the finger paints and helping the children into their smocks. Once he started them on the lesson, teaching them which colors to blend to create secondary pigments, he pulled out his phone to find a single text from Taiga. 

“Hey, Tetsu! Fireman’s hall. Tonight. After 7. Need help w/project.”

Tetsuya shoved his disappointment away with a sigh and typed a succinct reply before getting back to work. 

The Firemen’s Hall was a hole-in-the-wall reception area behind the station, with some grills, a few picnic tables, and a basketball hoop by the parking lot. The station used the area for their summer gatherings and rented it for weddings and parties. Tetsuya had actually attended many events there for both Daiki and Taiga, but as active members of the community—Tetsuya a teacher, Taiga a fireman, and Daiki a police officer—they helped each other out, setting up events or attending as needed. Tetsuya didn’t necessary want to spend his Friday evening at a fire hall function, but Taiga helped him on numerous occasions. It was the least he could do. 

He hadn’t expected the party. 

It was a small gathering, just the Generation of Miracles with their respective partners, as well as a few people from Kaijo, like Kasamatsu. Taiga was situated at the grill, flipping the burgers, though he yelled every so often at Daiki, who goated from the basketball court. Apparently, he’d already gotten out his ball and lured Ryou, Tatsuya, Shintarou, Kazunari, and Kasmatsu into a three-on-three game. Once he noticed Tetsuya, though, he waved him over. 

“Hey, Tetsu! Get over here. You’re on my team.”

“No way, Aominecchi!” Ryouta interjected, bounding over to Tetsuya’s side. “I called dibs!”

Tetsuya felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but then Ryouta’s usually bright face darkened with uncertainty, something Tetsuya never thought he’d see from the always confident Ryouta. 

“We’re going to be on the same team, right, Tetsuyacchi? You promised!”

Ryouta’s face instantly glowed. Perhaps, this was too forward, but Tetsuya didn’t care as he snagged Ryouta by the front of his shirt. Tugging him down, he captured those delightfully warm and plush lips into a heated and delirious embrace. He smiled, even while kissing, as Ryouta’s arms came around his body and lifted him up to better accommodate their mish-mashed sizes. 

“About freakin’ time,” Taiga muttered, while Daiki yelled across to Himuro, “You owe me a hundred bucks, Tatsu!”

When Ryouta finally placed him back down, he went into full-glomp mode, as if trying to squeeze the life out of Tetsuya. But he didn’t mind with Ryouta’s intense warmth holding him close—he’d never minded, really—and he smiled into the crook of Ryouta’s neck. 

“So…I’ll take that as yes,” Ryouta ventured. “You’ll be my partner?”

Today, tomorrow, forever. 

“Yes…Ryouta-chan.”

_The End_


End file.
